


kinda girl you like

by theadamantdaughter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bi Shiro, Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mlm Shiro, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: a bachelor party brings shiro to a strip club, where an exotic dancer takes a particular liking to him.





	kinda girl you like

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to braincoins for beta-reading this!!
> 
> also, as with anything i write, shiro is bi.

“Another round for y’all?” A blonde waitress smiled down at him, temporarily blocking his view of the stage.

 

Shiro pulled his gaze away, glanced briefly at the menu she held out, and tapped at the middle of it. “A peach bellini. Not for me, I’m good for now. For the bachelor.” He tipped his head in the direction of Lance, eyes twinkling. “He likes the sweet things, and the girl with purple hair?”

 

Throughout the night, he’d caught Lance’s attention on her most often. She had a haughty air about her, sharp eyes that cut through the crowd like the neon lights; it was easy to see why Lance was stuck on her. And while Shiro wasn’t entirely sure of himself in this scene — _How much was too much? How long could he stare?_ — he wanted Lance to experience anything and everything on his last night of quote-unquote _freedom._

 

It’d be quite the story for Hunk in the morning.

 

Chuckling inwardly, he gave the waitress his card for the drinks. She wandered off, promised to tell Acxa that a particular blue-eyed bachelor was eager for a one-on-one, and Shiro’s gaze slid back to the stage.

 

Acxa was interesting, stunning, but his eyes didn’t linger on her long. The other girl dancing, directly to his left about two seats down from him— she, she had his full, and undivided, attention.

 

All the hype surrounding Club Altea promised out-of-this-world dancers, and all the hype had delivered with one look at her.

 

She was absolutely breathtaking, absolutely jaw-dropping. Since arriving, he’d hardly looked away.

 

Dark skin glistened with sweat, caught the pink and purple lights that flashed across the stage. The colors were heavenly against her, kissed the curve of her hips and caressed the contour between her breasts. The light blue lace she wore, a thong with a matching bralette, were luminous on her skin.

 

And her hair— it was styled in loose curls, followed her through every dance like a wave. She spun, it fanned out like wings. She tossed it back, tucked a shoulder to her chin, look coyly around the blanket it created.

 

It was white, matched her smile every time one flashed in his direction.

 

They weren’t for him; Shiro knew they weren’t only for him. It was a show, a charade, a game. One she was winning. There were twenty other patrons all vying for her attention, and she sucked him right into it, hips canting to the music, hands sliding over her waist and ribs.

 

She snapped the elastic on her thong, spun around quickly, hair whipping, and smacked her ass.

 

He laughed at that, tossed a twenty in her direction. For fuck’s sake, he had to look away when she put her back against the pole, slid down to her knees, and crawled towards him.

 

“Thank you, handsome,” she mouthed, enchanting him.

 

Or cursing him.

 

Cursing him to watch every subtle movement, to remain frozen in place as her mouth curved with a seductive purr, as her fingers curled around the bill and tucked it safely in the cup of her bra, as she leaned towards him, trapped him within the halo of her hair, within the blue light of her eyes and delicate glow of her skin.  

 

She brought a hand up, curled a finger at him.

 

A lioness, making her next kill.

 

“If I told you to follow me…”

 

It wasn’t a question. A proposition, maybe, though he had no idea where it will lead. But in his breathless state, beneath her bewitching gaze, how could ever refuse her?

 

“...where are we going?”

 

Her laugh bubbled over the music. The hand beckoning him turned over, took his as she slipped from the stage. She landed gracefully between his legs, cocked a hip and bent over his chair, caging him in.

 

He shivered with the whisper of her breath against his ear. “Why don’t you wait and see?”

 

“Takashi,” he said.

 

“Your name?” She pulled back slightly, looked him over as if deciding the name suited him. “Call me Princess.”

 

“Fitting.”

 

Shiro resisted the urge to touch her, to do anything but drum his fingers on his legs. His hand still burned from touching hers. Electricity jumped through him when she scraped her nails down his forearms and snagged his wrists.

 

“Come on,” she insisted. Her grip slipped further, tightened around his fingers to tug him to his feet.

 

He didn’t resist, not in the least. He rose quickly and fluidly, only threw a parting glance at Keith. Lance was occupied with the dancer Shiro requested for him; Kinkade seemed equally rapt with the close-up dance. Keith shrugged, one brow quirked to meet Shiro’s small, uncertain smile, then Princess pulled him along.

 

She led him towards the back of the stage, through the curtains that seperated the main floor from more secluded areas. Her strides were confident; her posture, bold. She had every reason to be. Strappy, silver heels stomped the floor, pulled his gaze to her feet then up her long legs. Her ass swayed with the bass; even walking, she kept on beat. Shiro was caught on that, on the temptation in her steps, on the glitter that attracted the lights and the light blue thong that perfectly accentuated her cheeks.

 

His eyes wandered up further, lingered on her waist where the ends of her hair tickled. Her back was toned, arms muscular, neck slender and sloped, and the smile she threw over her shoulder could’ve ended him.

 

“I know you made the choice to follow me, but I will not mistake that for your consent.”

 

_Consent?_

 

“If you’d prefer to go back, if you’d rather not be touched, just say no.”

 

“I—” Shiro stopped as she did, took in the room around him.

 

The area was designed for an intimate showing, closed in by curtains draped from the walls and dominated by a crescent-shaped lounge, a silver pole and circular stage in the center of it. The lights were lower, shifting with redder undertones. The music was muted, a slow beat vibrating up from the floor and stirring his blood.

 

No. No, that was her.

 

He swallowed, forcing the squeak of shock from his voice. “I don’t have any condoms.”

 

“Condoms?” she questioned, chastised him. “Takashi.”

 

 _God_ , the way she said his name... Shiro would’ve done anything for her. He _did_ ; he let himself be led to the lounge, let her push him down, hands firm on his chest. Her fingers seemed appreciative as they sank into his pecs, lingering for a pent-up breath before she backed away.

 

“We won’t be going that far, it’s not even our first date.”

 

“Are you implying that I may take you out?”

 

She gripped the pole casually, leaned away from it with an arm outstretched and her legs crossed at the angle. “If you’re good.”

 

“I…” Her body was a line of pure ecstacy. A new beat started somewhere in the club and she took to it immediately. Shiro leaned back on the lounge, utterly entranced. “I can do that.”

 

The very first spin had him dizzy, the way she whipped around the pole. Her hair fanned out around her shoulders, spilled below her as she pulled herself upside down. Her legs spread into a perfect split. The momentum she had smoothed out as the beat did, as if she’d mastered this for him.

 

A temptress. An enchantress.

 

Her eyes met his through the dim red lights, glinting with heat. He let his head fall back to the cushions, watched her with lidded eyes.

 

The beat dropped, thudded through him straight for his cock. She worked down the pole slowly, showed off every possible angle of her body, stopped with only a leg wrapped around the metal, her head inches above the stage. Planting her hands on the floor, she all but stopped his heart. His gaze followed her legs one by one as she walked them over, sliding to her belly fluidly, her ass to him.

 

Her eyes snapped over her shoulder; she snapped her hips.

 

Shiro flexed his, fingers making fists in the front of his jeans. There wasn’t enough room in them; there wasn’t enough air around him. The decrease of oxygen to his brain, the lack of blood to his head— she told him to be good, but all he could do was stare.

 

Open-mouthed. Heated skin.

 

He watched in a daze, watched her rise up on her knees, cant her hips, dance her arms up into the air and bend backwards towards him. He admired every shift, wished she were closer so he could trace the muscular planes of her back, wished he could follow her hands from her thighs to her waist to her breasts.

 

She whipped onto her belly with the song’s bridge, writhed on all fours and slid towards him.

 

“Takashi,” she said his name, again. Her voice was like candy, leaking sweet sugar into his veins. Her hands covered his, respecting the limits of his given permission. She asked for more. “Would you like to touch me?”

 

“Am I allowed?”

 

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m allowing it.” Studying him for a moment more, her hands slid off of his, felt up his thighs and hips, and spread out on his stomach. “I’d like it.”

 

Shiro exhaled unsteadily.

 

“Yes. Please, Princess.”

 

Her fingers dug into his abdomen and she rose to her feet, poised daintily between his knees. He hesitated, then delicately touched her legs, let his fingers whisper up the outside of her thighs to the swell of her cheeks.

 

His heart leapt into his throat. “Is this a regular thing you do?”

 

“Does it ruin the illusion for you?”

 

Shiro considered the question, tapped her ass to coax her into his lap. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

 

“Really?” she laughed, draped her arms around his neck as her weight settled over his hips, “I think I might like you.”

 

“I should hope so,” he teased. “You have me pinned under you.”

 

“ _Mm_ , that I do.”

 

Her smile was haughty, her breath warm and heated as she bumped her nose against his. If a kiss was what she sought, Shiro obliged. Eagerly. Boldly. With a hand wrapped in the damp curls at the base of her neck and the other splaying out on her lower back.

 

And for once, he allowed himself the fantasy, allowed his mind to be lost. A beautiful dancer straddled his lap. A rush of chills ran down his spine. He started the most minute circles of his hips, moaned into the kiss when she greeted the motions with flutters of her own. His fingers skated down her back, around her ribs. His thumbs slipped beneath the band of her bra, traced the swell of her breasts. She scraped her nails through his hair.

 

“Take my bra off,” she demanded.

 

Shiro found the clasp, undid it smoothly. “As you wish, Princess…”

 

He ran his fingers up the straps to her shoulders, teased them both by pulled the straps down her arms with slow anticipation. The twenty he’d given her fluttered to the floor, and she laughed.

 

“I’ll be keeping that, you know.”

 

He nodded, though his eyes couldn’t be pulled from her chest. Almost reverently, Shiro grazed the swoop of her ribs to her sternum, ventured to touch her breasts, bowed his mouth to the swell of the left and then blew cool air of the wet kiss he left.

 

“Should I pay you more?” he asked. “For this?”

 

Palming the weight of her breasts, squeezing them, kneading, he looked up, found her smirking pridefully down at him.

 

“If you want.”

 

“It seems like the respectable thing to do.”

 

“Oh?” A sigh pulled from her when he nuzzled her neck, rounded out into a soft whine when his teeth grazed her collarbone. “You do this often?”

 

Shiro smiled, nipped her skin, kissed away the offense and down to her nipple. He sucked roughly, tortured her until her nipple pebbled up under his tongue. She tasted delectable, like lust and sweat, and she trembled in his arms, spread a hand out flat on his stomach and started rolling her hips again.

 

His lips parted with a groan. He tucked his face into her neck.

 

“Does it ruin the illusion for you, Princess?”

 

Her laugh was beautiful; he joined in, the sound husky and needy and finally muffled with another kiss. She held his chin tightly, kissed him greedily and desperately. Her hands moved to twist in his hair, slid down to grip his shirt. Shiro allowed her whatever she wanted: her tongue in his mouth, her weight fully bearing down on his hips, each thrust starting with a slow roll and ending with a hard snap, each met by him.

 

“Takashi.”

 

She’d break away to say his name, to seek new purchase, new rhythm as the music changed to quick, staccato beats.

 

_Use me. Need me. Fuck me._

 

He’d bite back his own responses, drown them out with kisses down her neck. He’d sound desperate; he _was_ desperate. The slow burn she’d laced through his blood now raced to the music. The friction was somehow too much and not enough. The front of his jeans had to be ruined.

 

Shiro felt her through the denim: how soaked her panties were, how close she was to that edge. She was chasing the same high as him, mindless and moaning.

 

“Princess,” he begged, grabbed her ass and held her tight to him. He found the right beat, hard and quick. He was going to come, he was—

 

She all but stilled above him, fingers clenched fiercely in his hair he saw stars at the edge of his vision. At first the cry was silent, but she pleaded and whimpered and he kept rutting beneath her, driving her closer and closer to what she wanted.

 

“O-oh—” She gasped, shivered, snapped. “Fuck. Takashi.”

 

The burst of heat across her skin, the flush that deepened the gorgeous brown slope of her neck and breasts, the flood that soaked his jeans and wet his cock— Shiro shuddered through his own climax, hardly able to keep his hold on her hips, keep his grip on his sanity as they crashed down together.

 

A beat passed.

 

Several, actually.

 

He counted each thud of his heart, reaching a total of sixty-two before his breath slowed down with hers, before he could think. Clearing his throat quietly, Shiro moved his hands from her ass to the slim curve of her waist, squeezing affectionately.

 

“That was—”

 

“—fantastic,” she finished for him.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, that about describes it.”

 

He chuckled slightly, then shifted beneath her. She took it as a cue to move and slid from his lap to the lounge, her legs still draped over his. Shiro missed the weight, but used the opportunity to assess the front of his pants.

 

“Shit,” he snorted. “At least they’re a dark wash, right?”

 

“The club is dark, too.”

 

Shiro shook his head, more in disbelief at himself than anything else. In his wildest dreams, his night would not have resulted in this… although, he’d be dreaming about this for weeks following. Tugging slightly on the legs of his jeans, he struggled to avoid the cool, sticky feeling. Eventually, he gave up, settled his hands on her shins and threw a dazed smile her way.

 

“So dinner then, Princess?”

 

She paused in her reach for her bra, head tilted curiously.

 

“You said if I was good,” he clarified, perhaps pressing his limits. But, he’d be damned if he didn’t try. Shiro leaned over her legs, his arms being longer, and collected the blue negligee along with the fallen twenty. “It doesn’t have to be dinner. I’m fine with lunch, even coffee.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“Is asking a dancer out off-limits?”

 

She straightened up on the lounge, eyes wide. What a beautiful, blissful peek at such vulnerability. It made him smile, made his heart clench painfully. Now, he really wanted this date.

 

“We’ll do whatever you want, Princess. I can even dance for you.”

 

Shiro offered the bra and bill to her, surprised when she refused the latter.

 

“Allura.”

 

“Your name?”

 

She nodded, curled her hands into her lap with the bra, her gaze falling away shyly. Shiro reached out to brush her hair away from her cheek.

 

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

That earned him a beaming grin, one he happily returned. Allura — damn, he loved that name already — shimmied her bra straps up her arms and turned her back to him, gesturing at the clasp.

 

“I may take you up on the offer to dance like this… someday,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder, “but first, have you ever been line-dancing, Takashi?”

 

Shiro leaned forward to kiss her cheek, then winked.

 

“Princess, I’m the champion of line-dancing.”

 


End file.
